


Experiments

by KoolJack1



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020), Dracula - BBC, Dracula - Netflix
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoolJack1/pseuds/KoolJack1
Summary: Count Dracula finds himself confined in the Johnathan Harker Foundation research laboratory for slightly longer than he planned. Zoe realizes that her morality means more to her than the pretense of research.They both realize that pain is unavoidable, and perhaps it can be worth it, should one find the right person worth hurting for.A reimagining of most of the third episode, and a continuation after the ending.Not all beginnings have ends. But most do.Next chapter posted at 100 kudos, so leave them if you enjoy it and want more!
Relationships: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula/Zoe Van Helsing
Comments: 30
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Count Dracula gives his consent.

“What is that?”

He was still carefree at that point, inquisitive and amused, even bemused, by everything going on around him. This time, the silver glint of a brand-new MacBook Pro had caught his eye. Zoe watched as her carefully chosen doctors worked around him, while Dracula remained confined to a small corner of his glass cell that remained covered in darkness. She watched him closely, as he happily watched those worked around him, intrigued by what they were doing—only to watch his brow furrow in uncertainty when they brought out vials of blood. He looked from them to her, meeting her eyes. No one had answered his original question, but he had another, “Doctor Van Helsing, may I inquire about why dinner would be presented like this?”

She says nothing, watching as his nostrils flare and his eyes darken and flood with deep crimson when the first vial is opened. His seemingly easy going stance turns menacing, and his attention focuses directly on the younger men again. Dracula hisses when they stand in the bright light, just beyond his reach, “I see we become so brave when we know we are untouchable,” he hisses, his tongue running over his sharp teeth.

“Count Dracula,” she speaks up, approaching the wall of the cell closest to him, “I know that the sight and smell of blood will make this not matter, but it feels only right to disclose to you the nature of these tests.” 

He turns in a flash, pressing up to the glass and smiling darkly at her: “I am so interested to hear more, but you see, it seems unfair for you to wait to inform me until after your colleagues open the vials. We both know I get slightly distracted when I’m… hungry.”

Van Helsing raises one eyebrow, and disregards his comment—“Our next series of tests are going to involve a few different concepts the board has discussed as wanting to research further. Each blood sample you are going to be given will be that of someone with a different illness, whether that be physical or mental.” 

Dracula scratched his razor-sharp nails along the glass, “Are you asking for my consent? Do I have… rights? As you said, we all have them now” he mocked darkly, smiling in a way that reflected a snarl.

“You do have rights, which is why I’m informing you, so you can give proper consent” she said evenly, watching as he turned back to the others, who remained in the brightest light, holding the first sample of blood that she knew to contain the blood of a heavily active opioid user. Dracula inched right to the edge of the shadow, the smell of the blood wafting over everything, he wanted nothing more than to drink every ounce they had, both in their bodies and in their plastic containers.

But he would settle for what they were offering, “I consent.” And just like that, the first blood samples were placed on a small rolling table, and rolled into the shadows. Without more thought, he drank each sample greedily, humming approval. The younger doctors had quickly made their exit, leaving Van Helsing alone to enter the cell. She sat at the centered table, in the beautiful light, in front of the MacBook that had caught his eye before, and watched him drink his fill, ready to document their first real experiment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With research comes guilt.

That first night had been difficult. Van Helsing had watched the Count deteriorate quickly from his well-maintained façade of normalcy and indifference. Within the first hour, she found her fingers could barely move quick enough over the keyboard to keep updating her notes and observations. Dracula paced in the shadow, like a caged animal who feared for his life. Despite the bloodlust having waned with his feed and the lack of blood visible or scented in the room, Dracula remained agitated and aggressive.

“What did you give me?” he accused, his entire body trembling as he stood at the edge of the shadow, his features sharp and distinct.

“I already told you, and you gave your consent,” Van Helsing replied simply, adding the notation of rising anger into her observation log. 

“No, Doctor Van Helsing, you told me your plan, you did not tell me what you gave me,” he said flatly, his eye sockets starting to ache in the dullest way. His thoughts were foggy and distorted, and he could feel pressure building in his stomach as if he would be sick. “This blood was contaminated by someone ill. Different than your own illness, it has a flavor of a different type of death entirely.”

Van Helsing stood up and walked to the edge of the shadow, “An active opioid addict. We collected his blood sample when he over dosed and died. I suspect, if my predictions are right, you’ll experience some form of withdrawal symptoms.”

And she had been right. Quicker than the living would, and merely an hour later, he was exhibiting nearly every sign of withdrawal. Dracula’s breaths came in pants, as if he struggled to take in enough air, despite needing none to begin with. He had sank into the back corner of the shadow, his back wedged where two corners of the cell had been sealed tightly. There had been dry heaving, and some inaudible noises and phrases falling from his mouth and emitting from deep in his chest. “Is this…science?” He asked weakly, and she knew it was intended to be mockingly, but it only sounded desperate. She had taken the laptop to the floor just a foot away from him, her own back against the wall, just at the shadows edge.

“Yes. Tell me how much pain you’re feeling?” He huffed, and suddenly doubled over, seemingly unable to respond. “Count Dracula, the sooner you answer the sooner I will give you a clean blood sample to filter this one out.”

“I feel like I’m being shredded apart,” he spluttered, trying to lift his head to look at her, “I’d like it to end.”

That had been nearly a week ago already. They had ended that, with plenty of notes. Dracula had fed on new blood, and slowly calmed down, but Zoe saw a distinct change in his behavior, even after he was feeling better. He seemed distant and cold—gone was the inquisitive questions and curiosity, and he no longer tried to make small talk or mock her. She sat with him for a little longer that night, wondering if she was on the right side of history with his research, when he finally lifted his eyes to look at her, “Rights, I see, can be violated if we use the pretense of science and study.” His voice was cold, with a tint of hurt, as if he had expected better of her than to allow such occurrences.

Over the days that followed, the experiments continued. Dracula had been given multiple other samples, with Van Helsing staying until the wee hours of the morning to document every observation. The night after the drug addict, he was given the blood of a suicide victim, who had suffered from extreme depression and anxiety.

_“Agatha, won’t you stay?” He had pleaded, desperation in his voice and in his eyes. Zoe had purposefully backed away from the edge of the light when he got closer, watching his face fall. “I was supposed to be dead,” he insists, “The courage it took to die only led me here? Why couldn’t you leave me dead.”_

__

__

_The words were the haunting thoughts of the poor woman whose mental illness took her life, but they eerily fit coming from his mouth too. “Please, won’t you give me the blade I know is in your pocket?” He nodded towards the front flap of her lab coat, “If I swallow it…” he trailed off, clearly conflicted, clearly confused. “You’ve given me a fate worse than any death.”_

That night, she had trouble sleeping. Conflicted, she wondered if any of his words or experiences were any true reflection of a shred of humanity that was buried inside him, or merely regurgitated memories and thoughts beyond his control.

The rest of the nights had passed similarly, but tonight, she sat at the table and watched him back into the corner. “The blood of an unmedicated schizophrenic, Count Dracula.” Her voice had lost a lot of the conviction and coldness as the nights passed, and she found herself having trouble looking at him as he would sink further and further into a darkness that was unfamiliar to him.

“I know you record this,” he stammered, “Does the Internet watch?” He pointed to the MacBook, and looked back at her. “Who pays you? Have you sold me to the highest bidder, for whoever can afford to send their sickest blood for me to drink?” The paranoia may have had a root cause, but it was not unwarranted. “Did you think I would never notice, by the way, that the shadows become increasingly smaller?”

“We have left you the same amount of space on that side.”

He shook his head frantically, “No, no, _no,_ ” he stepped towards the edge of the shadow again, “No, I know you don’t. Do you think I won’t know it is closer than the day before, and step too far? Will you try to make me?” His voice had become increasingly frantic, and he paced from one edge of the shadow to the other. There was nothing in the shadows with him—not one object. Nothing for him to throw or break, which she could feel would be his next move had they not thought ahead. For their safety, not his, but now she had nearly wished they had left something for him, to witness the sheer magnitude of his strength and abilities he would demonstrate.

“You’re agitated, what are you thinking?”  
“I’m _thinking,_ Doctor Van Helsing, that I want these experiments to stop. I have no space in my head for my own thoughts,” his long fingers and sharp claws ran through his hair, disheveling it further and clearly annoyed at how calm she sounded, “I’m thinking the walls of this cell are getting thicker and thicker and the space is getting smaller. I need more space, you know; I'm a man used to having a lot of room. I’m thinking I cannot _breathe—_ ” 

“You don’t need to breathe.” And just like that, the dam broke. Dracula turned and smashed his fists into the glass walls, shaking the table, but the glass held strong. He screamed and bashed at the glass, clawing at it desperately. Shocked, Van Helsing jumped up from the table, grabbing the clean sample from the table, “Dracula, look at me. I have the blood to end this—” His fists beat into the glass with a force that would have broken a mortal’s bones, and turned just in time for her to watch him rake his sharp, sharp nails down his face, blood seeping from the slashes. “Take the blood,” she insisted, and he did, sucking it down greedily as he retreated to the corner he had come so readily confined in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dracula and Zoe share a moment, and she makes a decision.

The effects of the clean sample seemed instantaneous, at least to her. He was quiet after that, his head lulled against the glass and faced up towards the source of light, and his eyes gently closed. She watches him closely, inhaling and exhaling slowly, the sharp angles of his face relaxed. Finally, he spoke, “I should like to see Her again, do you have the blood that would allow that?” He whispered, tilting his head to look at her; the cuts on his face had already healed dramatically, and he had licked his own blood from his fingers and palms calmly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. She had taken her place just outside the shadow, against the glass, as close as she could get to him without being in any real danger. Physically, anyway. He had talked to her about this before, his desire to be able to step out into the light, or at least the sun. The artificial lights overhead merely representing one of the worst parts of his existence—an element of being human that he undeniably missed.

“Not yet. I haven’t come to understand that part of this yet.”

“What is it you are trying to understand?” He asked, “You are brilliant, and you have the bloodline of a true fighter. I find myself wondering, what is it, then, that is drawing you to this?”

“I want to understand you,” she says, and he waits for more, because he knows there is more, “I want to find a cure for you.”

He smiles wickedly, “Dear Zoe, though I am fond of your determination, there is no cure for death. Everyone dies, some slower than others, some differently than others. I should know, I’ve had the absolute pleasure of watching many die. There is no cure, because this is not an illness. I will never revert to a mortal state, I can only revert to a corpse of nonexistence. You have taught me, however, that I would take the blissful nothingness over the dreadful pain of many mortals.”

She reached her hand out towards him then, palm out, as if the shadow edge itself was another wall that could not be penetrated. He looked from her hand to her and back, and raised his just to brush the backs of his knuckles across her palm before lowering it back to his lap. “Are these pains you’re familiar with?”

“Some. The pains I feel now seem so insignificant.”

“Did you feel pain, before?”

“I felt pain, surely,” he admits, “I met a very painful end to my mortal existence. I only speak from experience about what I know of the sufferers and the pain that engulfs the dead.”  
“Are you angry? At who brought that end, and left you with this beginning?”

He turns and looks at her with hooded eyes, and she swears if anyone was to ask in that moment, she would say he was as human as she was. “You never answered my question,” he deflects, his eyes falling back on the MacBook, “What is that?”

“A computer, not much different than your tablet,” he tilts his head as she picks it up, and turns the screen to show him.

“May I have a closer look at it?”

“Not at this one,” and he nods in understanding—it contains all the files on him, “But I can bring you an extra one, so long as it returns in one piece.”

“I’d not harm it,” he confirms, and she doesn’t bother correcting him that they don’t actually have feelings that could be hurt, and goes to stand to leave for the night. “Zoe,” he’s standing before she even saw him move, “I’d much appreciate if you’d fetch my lawyer for me, and bring him when you arrive tomorrow.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Those rights you spoke of, I think you value them and the protection of ethics they lend to. I put some into… Google, you call it?... I read of the ethics, I think that would be something you held dear, as a scientist. Though I’m no expert, it seems you’re violating every moral and ethical code of your profession by participating in this, not to mention violating my rights,” he stops for a moment, watching her closely, “I also think you find yourself second guessing if this is what you want. I could hear your heart rate as you sat here, with me. You were concerned, scared… but not of me, it was for me.”

She kept gathering her things, dutifully not looking at him, “I think these are a words of a desperate creature. You’re weakened; we have been sure to only feed you the exact amount to keep you awake and functional. To recover from these tests, you’d need far more, and a bed of your own earth. That is intentional, Dracula, and you already---"

“I found myself many times, over the past few days, wishing nothing more than to be closer to you,” he interrupts. Though she is sure it is a manipulative maneuver to get what he wants, she feels a lump rise up in her throat, the image of him writhing in the corner, that had kept her awake at night, filling her mind’s eye.

“Even if I bring your lawyer, that would never happen.”

“Who says? You’re dying anyway,” he comments, smiling slightly, “I could feed, and—”

“I say. Goodnight, Count Dracula.” Zoe gathers her belongings and rises from the floor. When she blinks, he is standing as well, his dark eyes piercing into her back.

“I take much interest in the modern world, perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me more?” She does not bother to respond, and he sighs in fake exasperation, “You leave me here, alone, all night. To my own devices. Rather lonely, I’m afraid. Could I interest you in a game, before you go? Of chess?”

She turns to face him again, her lips straight in a scowl. He nods in the direction of the tablet on the table and smiles, a full grin with all crooked teeth, “I’ve found an.. app? From the Internet. Such wonders you humans have managed to create in just a short century, by the way, kudos to your research colleagues. Playing against the computer is just not quite as fun as playing against a person. Nor is playing digitally, but I suppose I’m merely old fashioned and should embrace the… standards and expectations of your times,” he laughs to himself, turning to pace the shadow, buying more time, “Surely you must forgive me, I’m learning—rights, digital chess, the Internet, flying… helicopters? You’ve thrown a lot at me as of late.”

“I will play one game with you,” she agrees, putting her belongings down and wheeling the small table so it is half in the light and half in the dark, and slides a chair into the dark for him, and pulls one up for herself.

“Thank you for amusing me. I wish we could make this interesting with a wager of some sort, but I’m afraid I have little to offer you besides myself.”

“I already have all of you I need,” Zoe says, sitting down and opening the chess application he downloaded.

“I can assure you, you have not even seen the best parts of me yet,” she moves her piece and slides the tablet across the table, and raises an eyebrow at him, but says nothing.

They play in silence for awhile, and he very quickly takes the advantage over her. “Did you love Agatha?” She finally asks.

“I’ve never loved anyone,” he says easily, not looking up from the screen, “Well, not completely true. I had a stray dog wander onto the grounds of my castle some hundred years ago. He was truly a pleasure to have around. A pity animals live only a fraction of the time we do, and a fraction of a fraction of how long I have.”

“What happened to it?” She asks, and he peers up at her, eyebrows up, “The dog, what happened to it?”

“If you are asking if I killed him, of course not. He enjoyed sitting by the fire. He was clean, and required little of me. The mutt died of old age; I even dignified him with a burial on the grounds. I would’ve thought I was a cat person, but I guess we are always learning ourselves.” He plays the last move and puts her in checkmate, and leans back and smiles. “You have nothing to fear, you know. You can come into the shadow here.”

“Why would I want to do that?” she challenges.

“I think you have an interest in me physically,” he states, watching her closely. “Even if I wanted to-- and lets be clear, I do want to, but for argument sake—I couldn’t feed on you, as we’ve learned. Although I’m sure you are absolutely delicious on the tongue.”

He grins at her slyly, and she does her best to show him nothing, “Good game, Count Dracula. I will be back in the morning.”

He reached his hand out to beckon her to him, “Do you have not the faintest curiosity as to what I feel like? Your colleagues are not here, no one here but you and I. It would be our little secret.”

The whole time, she had done her best to avoid his eyes, and made the mistake of looking now. Their deep, dark color lured her closer, had her wanting to be nearer to him. “Are you hypnotizing me?”

“Dear Zoe, of course I am. I’m just giving voice to your own desires, and openly offering you the opportunity to indulge. Perhaps you trust me.”

“I don’t trust you,” but her feet carry her another few steps towards him.

“As you shouldn’t, but that does not mean that you don’t.”

She stands just before him now, looking over the hand that is stretched out to her, “your heartbeat is slow, you aren’t afraid. In the times when you’ve been afraid, that instinct, trust it—it is quiet this time, though, why do you think that is?” He muses, ducking his head to look at her face again.

She slowly reaches her hand past the invisible barrier that has separated them, and cautiously touches his hand. His skin is rather cold to the touch, but not nearly as cold as she expected. He feels… very much human, nearly alive, besides being pale. His fingernails were gagged and sharp, much like an animals would be. “You’ve such delicate fingers,” he comments, and she looks up to see he, too, is looking down at their hands, as she rubs her thumb over his knuckles, “I have such an appreciation for the female form.”

“And the male form, too,” she adds.

“Surely, they’re both exquisite in their own respects. Women and men, to not enjoy both would be to miss out on more than half the people in this world.”

“You’re bisexual,” she states, turning his hand over to examine his palm.

“Mortals always have to label everything. With such a limited amount of time on this earth, one would think your kind would realize they exert much energy and time on trying to organize everything with a label, instead of just being.”

His hand gently turns to interlock their fingers, and it breaks the moment for her. Abruptly, she takes her hand away and steps back, “I appreciate the opportunity, and the game and bid you goodnight.”

He doesn’t try to stop her this time.

That night, she lays awake in bed considering her next options. She realizes she can’t sleep until she rights what feels so wrong. She sends an email to his lawyer, and finally finds sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop a comment and kudos if you’d like more :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final few scenes, with a little more character study.

When Dracula’s lawyer walks in the next morning, Zoe and Dracula play it off well. She wasn’t sure if he would let on who contacted his lawyer, but he doesn’t miss a beat. Frank had gotten in touch with him overnight, almost immediately after Zoe had reached out initially; apparently, the clients who can pay the most, are the ones who get the most immediate service. She lets him lead the way the next morning, watching him enjoy the show of those around him—he’s more than happy to take the blame and the credit for the timely arrival of his lawyer.

She stops by to say goodbye, but he’s indulging himself already. I’m sending you an email, he smirks, and she is nearly excited to read it.

So when she stands alone, on the waters edge, with the sun falling slowly behind her and turning the sky pink, she wonders what the future holds, and what will come next. She openly follows the subtle instructions in his email, and drinks the vial of blood she had lifted from the foundation’s laboratory storage, and sits on the grass and waits. All she needs to understand is in the blood, if she knows how to read it.

_She sees Agatha and Dracula standing together.  
“Come boy, suckle,” she commands, and his sharp fangs sprout from his mouth and he obliges. Zoe can do little but watch Dracula’s own memories unfold, watch as he drinks from her greedily and presses himself as close as he can get to her._

_“You are the most delicious and delectable substance I have ever had the pleasure to enjoy,” he murmurs, “I’ll carry you to the new world in my veins. Together, Agatha, we can be together.”_

_He ducks his head again, and drinks more deeply from her neck. Her hands come up and tangle in his dark hair. Zoe watches, and she could almost be sure that they are lovers—any onlooker would be certain they were in love. If they did not know better, that he was a monster incapable of love, and she was merely a nun who had followed her morbid curiosity instead of following God._

She finds herself traveling farther back, hundreds and hundreds of years, to a small boy, just the age of seven. He has dark hair and dark eyes, and though he is smaller, weaker, he is all so familiar. So innocent, with a hint of pure… curiosity. The young boy sits next to the bed, and she inches closer to him—he raises his dark eyes and puts one finger to his lips, _“Shhh, they will hear you,”_ he whispers.

A few moments pass, and the door bursts open, and three men drag the boy from behind the bed; there is one terrified scream, and she gets one last look at his eyes, and there is pure terror---

_He’s on the battlefield, wounded. It is a fatal wound, she can see—the doctor in her nearly wants to try to help him. Instead, she watches him gasp for breath. This is a man she recognizes, the face she had dreamt about and lost sleep over all at once. The troops had moved on, all besides one who comes to the man’s aide. Dracula screams, his rich tenor one she is familiar with, and instantly she knows what she is seeing—the blurry memory of his final moments. He must not remember it clearly, or he has guarded that from his memory, because her mind’s eye finally flashes to him writhing on the floor, an unidentified creature looking on, “You’ve laid your footprints on the final unprinted snow,” the monster comments, and Dracula screams and writhes in pain. “You’re mine now…”_

She doesn’t see Dracula again for what seems like forever. She hears from others that he is up to his same tricks as a free man, and she is confined to her hospital bed. Twice, she swears she sees a shadow outside the hospital window, and another time she swears she catches a hint of his scent. She would not be surprised if he had come to see her, and she would not admit to herself that she would be disappointed if he didn’t.

When Jack comes to visit her, clearly distressed, she knows what she has to do—end this once and for all.

When she watches how Dracula, almost lovingly, tries to comfort the poor girl, her entire form melted from its human form, she wonders if she is seeing a glint of humanity. His anger is clear when he can’t get through to her, his newest bride—the most perfect bride yet. Agatha hadn’t let him make her one of his brides, but Zoe found herself nearly feeling sorry for how disconnected he had come to be from the entire concept of brides, reproducing, and love. Any sign of emotion was quickly overshadowed by snark and coldness, as he sits back and watches Jack kill his latest experiment. He does nothing to interfere, even though he could have stepped in at any point.

Zoe knows then, when it dawns on her—she has the answer and she has had it all along.

“Jack, you must go,” she says smoothly. She watches Dracula as Jack protests, and he is too busy watching her.

“I’m about to have a personal conversation with Count Dracula, and I’m certain he won’t want it witnessed,” she states, smiling at Jack. Dracula looks at her in wonder, clearly intrigued.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s only one thing in this world you’re truly afraid of, and finally I know what it is.”

He looks at her almost longingly, and she knows he is wondering, nearly hoping: “I don’t.”

She is hoping, too—hoping she has the answers to end it all, “I know you don’t.” And she does know he doesn’t, and she knows he has spent his entire centuries of life trying to feel something.. trying to find that fear. To understand it.

Jack finally agrees to leave, and Dracula waits until the moment the door is closed, “Well, how did it taste?”

She plays dumb, enjoying the way he smiles and chuckles—truly a beautiful creature, “Dr. Helsing, I think you drank my blood.”

She doesn’t respond, and with one last look at his smile, she decides its now or never. She runs before he can comprehend what she is doing, and pulls the curtains, and the room is illuminated. As if all the darkness, secrets, and pain that had been trapped in his body was suddenly released, he cripples to the floor. Dracula screams, writhing on the floor in desperate pain. Zoe stands and watches, waiting, and sure enough, he calms down slowly, clearly confused but amazed. 

He seems… scared, as if he had forgotten he wasn’t alone. “It’s 93 million miles away. It really isn’t going to hurt you,” she speaks softly, comfortingly. He turns from the floor, reflexively lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the piercing light they had not been exposed to in hundreds of years. In the light, he is even paler than she expected, but he is rather stunning. 

Alone on the floor, his breaths shaky and erratic—he is scared, “I don’t understand,” he questions weakly, his voice breaking slightly. Zoe knew, then and there, she had him. This reckless, anger, monstrous creature was merely a man trapped in the body of a killer, and laid bare before her were the very fears and uncertainties he had buried so deeply.

“I have very few breaths left to explain, so don’t interrupt,” she instructs, watching him closely, wishing she could document every moment of this wonderous moment. He watches her closely, trying to collect himself, clearly too overwhelmed—“Consider Count Dracula, who cannot bear to look in a mirror.”

“Agatha?” He questions, clearly overwhelmed, the first true emotions in his voice and on his face. Part of her wants to go to him, to offer any moment of comfort, knowing that this being had been opened raw. He had waited for Agatha his entire life, the only one who never truly feared him, and instead wanted to understand him, All of him.

“Dracula, who won’t stand revealed in the sunlight,” she challenges, and he finally lowers his hand to let the sun wash over his face entirely. “Who cannot enter a home without an invitation. These aren’t curses—” He finally gets to his feet slowly, watching her in amazement and confusion “---They are merely habits that become fetishes that become legends, that even you believe.” Seemingly out of habit, he backs into the darkness of the room, watching her from the shadows. “The rules of the beast, as we discussed so very long ago,” Zoe tilts her head and smiles, lets Agatha speak directly to the man who had consumed her, and allowed him to hear the words of a woman who had consumed him. 

Dracula says nothing, and just stands looking at her almost blankly, “But why?” She prompts, knowing he has none of the answers. “What are you afraid of? You are a warrior from a long line of warriors,” they can’t look away from each other’s eyes, as captivated by the other as they are individually. “Your grandfather died in battle. Your father, your brothers, your sons, their sons. All of them fell as heroes on the battlefield, but not you. Not Count Dracula,” and she knows it stings, as a creature who has hidden so much of himself so deeply, accepted his fate. She wonders if, centuries ago, he had struggled at first—trying to make something of his new undead form that resembled something human. Wondered if he gave up to protect himself, facing the reality that he was condemned to a life he never asked for. He looks at her, so many emotions he probably hasn’t felt in years playing across his face, “The warlord who skulks in the shadows and steals the lives of others. Unwelcomed everywhere; who sleeps in a box of dirt, yet dreams of a warrior’s grave. Who suddenly found himself in thrall of a girl in love with the thing he fears the most: death.”

He looks from her to the sun, captivated, confused—and so very human. She remembers her cross then, “And now we know why this works,” she comments, holding it up for him to see. He gasps quietly, as if in physical pain, and turns away from her. Part of her wants to bring it closer to him, to try to force him to touch it—to watch him suffer by his own mind, as he had used his mind to make so many others suffer too. She can’t bring herself to, though, “Because it speaks of the courage you long to possess—the courage it takes to die. I call you ashamed, Count Dracula is ashamed. I don’t need this anymore,” and she throws the cross away, letting him look back at her again, “I’m dying, and I am doing the one thing you can never do, Dracula.”

She knows her time is up, she has said everything her and Agatha had waited to tell him, and by the look on his face, she had managed to complete the century old mission to reach him to his core, to perhaps reach the man inside. She is suddenly acutely aware of the pain she is in, and looks to the nearest chair to sit in. “You’re in pain,” he notes quietly, all of his usual snark and coldness gone—if anyone were to ask her then, she would swear he was a man, concerned with a loved one’s wellbeing. 

“I’m equal to it. You seek to conquer death, but you cannot… until you face it without fear,” she sits then, knowing she will soon fall, and he doesn’t look away from her. “Goodbye, Count Dracula,” and she lets it be a goodbye from them both, “Shuffle back to your box of dirt. The game is over. You lose.” She bites, but she knows there is nothing she could say to have cut him any deeper than she already did. “You will live forever. In shame.”

She watches his face, wonders if he would shed a tear—could he even shed a tear?—and watches the confusion and confliction cross his face before he looks to the sun again. Slowly, he brings himself to put his hand into the light, his breaths erratic, before finally letting himself stand back in the light again. As she watches, she knows she had simultaneously given him the best gift in his life, and the worst pain he could’ve ever felt. “Beautiful,” he whispers, starring directly up at the sun, and she smiles slightly as he closes his eyes and embraces what he waited for, for hundreds of years. “Look at her, Agatha,” he whispers, his voice raw and overcome with emotions. She watches him, knowing now that every time she had thought he beautiful and interesting in the past, was nothing compared to looking at him now. He seems to struggle for air that he doesn’t even need, his eyes a beautiful brown as the light plays off of them, “It’s _beautiful…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter-- the final chapter-- will expand on the ending. Please leave comments if you're enjoying! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We end in the warmth of Her rays.

She doesn’t remember when he moved away from the window, but now she is laying on top of him, naked, caressing his face. Merely a man, now that all of the darkness that consumed his being had been exposed to a far greater light. “This isn’t real,” she whispers, and suddenly he’s on top of her, kissing her with more passion than she knew possible. And there is so much love in that kiss. 

“This is a dream,” but she doesn’t want it to stop, as he gently moves against her, like a lover savoring every brush of the skin.

“Of course it is,” he whispers, his voice sounding like dripping honey when he looks down into her eyes and brushes his nose against hers. 

“You’re drinking my blood,” she states bluntly, nearly fascinated, and she feels him release his bite for just a moment, the blood drooling out of his mouth as his body starts to reject it. “But my blood is deadly to you…”

“Yes,” he sooths, and forces himself to drink more.

“So you’ll die.”

“So will you,” he whispers, drinking from her more deeply, refusing to let any of it come back up. Finally, he found the only peace he did not know existed, and now he did not want to live in a world where Agatha could not find him—where Zoe would suffer, when he could use his dreadful existence to end someone’s suffering for the first time. He doesn’t want to feel the pain, doesn’t want her to feel it, and the opiate of the vampire kisses washes over them. In their mind’s eye, she holds him against her, cradling his head so gently.

“After all this time, did you think I’d let it hurt?” He murmured to her, burrowing closer to her. He sighed against her neck, and at this point, it didn’t matter anymore. She could push him away, sure, and stick to her own morality and ethics, even to the end. Why? What good would it do either of them, now.

“You’ll be in pain,” she replies, turning her head and rubbing her face into his hair.

_The kiss of a vampire is an opiate._

Together, they were intertwined in bed. He had pressed his knee between her legs, and cuddled so close that no breeze could come between them. She hadn’t resisted, and instead wrapped her arms tightly around him. A monster can be reduced to a man if he is stripped of his power and control. Drunk on her poisoned blood, he was just that—powerless and out of control.

“I will, yes,” he whispered against her neck, only breaking his suckle to speak clearly. “I feel as though you’ve flayed me.”

“I can’t stop it from hurting you,” she whispers back, but she tilts her neck more, allowing him to suck more directly onto her skin. He moans quietly against her neck, sucking greedily, before he can change his mind.

The sun streams in through the window, illuminating the table they are on. He cracks his eyes open and flinches at the light, overcome with the deepest ache in his chest that somehow hurts worse than the burn of his skin he had expected.

“I want it to hurt, so enjoy it,” he sighs, feeling the first jolts of pain in his stomach, but he is determined now. He keeps drinking from her, resisting the urge to vomit, resisting the urge to pull away. Dracula can nearly feel what she feels, the same release, both of them tangled together, their nude bodies pressed closer together than ever before. He hadn’t laid with another person like this in any of the memories he still clearly recalled. “Tell me, Zoe. Tell me how we feel together.”

His voice is strained, clearly pained from the poison. She doesn’t resist now, as there was truly no point. She wraps her weak arms around his back, holding him gently—he could pull away if he wanted to, rip himself from her arms, but he finds himself paralyzed in the comfort of being so close to a human being. He latches onto her neck again, forcing himself to keep drinking.

“It feels like the warmest sun at midday, laying in the softest duvet. We wouldn’t close the blinds, not anymore. So the sun could watch us, and cover us in Her beauty,” she moans when he presses his hips closer, but she feels him gag and start to choke. She admires his determination as he holds himself still and keeps drinking, and she smiles to herself, “You’re beautiful in the sunlight, you know. Truly a wonder to marvel at. We would never get enough of each other,” he moans, deep in his chest, “You’ve always been rather remarkable, and truly devilishly handsome. But seeing you, like that… was breathtaking. I was fortunate to be the one to witness it.”

She’s so weak by the time he can’t hold out anymore. He breaks away from her neck, and vomits all over the table; her dark, dark blood pools around them, flowing towards the floor. She croons at him, like a mother calming a child, when he groans, her fingers tracing the sign of the cross on the back of his neck; he wretches painfully, trying his best to swallow. “Stay with me,” she insists, and it is the longest she has seen him go without a witty remark, and it was the first time she has seen him listen to anyone before, and he obeys. 

“The sun felt so wonderful,” he retorts, “There is nothing more that I would want, than to lay pressed against you, in the brightest light the sun could offer.” His face turns to look at her, his eyes hooded and dark, blood covering his mouth and shirt. She doesn’t care, and she presses a chaste kiss to his mouth, and watches him savor it. “I feel as though my heart has desired you for more than half my existence. Before you were even a twinkle in your mother’s eye, let alone in mine—my heart has wanted you. I’ve waited a lifetime.”

“You’ll say anything besides I love you, won’t you?” She teases, closing her eyes to return to the vision of them in bed, and he is merely a man. His teeth bite without penetrating the skin, his hands grip without crushing bone.

He’s quiet, and when she finally opens her eyes again, she finds his closed, and his eyebrows pulled together in painful thought. “I can’t,” he says simply, and she wants to reach her hand to touch his face again, but she finds herself far too weak to lift her arms.

“My heart desires you too, for far shorter, but no weaker,” he smiles slightly, the tension in his face fading.

“Let me drink more,” he responds, leaning forward to latch onto her again. When he rolls closer, she presses his hands down to her breast, and presses her own between their thighs.

“You’ve wanted to reproduce, was the goal by birth or by creation?”

“I’d have taken either,” he grunts, his voice hoarse, but his long fingers gently fondle her, “I’m afraid I—we—are out of time for that, now. Even had we tried sooner—I’d have killed you, whether I wanted to or not.” He looks at her with pure amazement and wonder, as if he’d just come to be able to see in that very moment. Exposed and raw, he looks nearly broken at the sheer thought of having waited, thinking he had all the time in the world, to suddenly be faced with the reality that even his time wasn’t boundless and endless. Dracula has never had to face the painful realization of time, and what it meant to run out of it.

“Stop drinking,” she demands, “Take me to bed.”

He looks as weak as she feels, but he complies. He carries her, bridal style, but his arms feel weakened, his steps far more uncertain, nearly stumbling as if he had too much to drink. He places her on her feet gently at the foot of his bed, and she stumbles to the curtains. She peers at him over his shoulder to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her tiredly, “Let us have our moment. Let the sun watch the darkness leave your very core.”

He nods silently, looking at her uncertainly. Hundreds of years avoiding the sun, only to now find himself so exposed to Her light. She throws the curtains opened, and finds her heart swell when he flinches and turns his face. She goes to him, gently caressing his cheeks, pressing one kiss between his furrowed brows. Just outside the door, she sees her discarded cross, and she slowly reaches for it. “Look here, Dracula.”

He blinks at her slowly, and hisses at the sight, his hands coming up to block the cross and the sun. “Surrender with no fear,” she pushes, stepping closer to him, her legs feeling like sponges, “Free yourself of this irrational pain.”

She brings the cross to his face, and gently takes his hand, “Please, Zoe,” he begs quietly, sounding deliciously exposed as his boundaries are pushed. The last line to cross—she holds his hand and lets the cross gently brush against his skin. He groans, agonized and emotionally drained; his eyes plead with hers, refusing to look down at the cross. She can’t let the pain sink any deeper into his face, and she finally drops the cross off the edge of the bed, and runs her fingers over his face.  
“Sweet boy,” she coos, pushing his hair out of his eyes, watching as his eyes close and his mouth gently parts. She starts with the buttons of his jacket and shirt, and makes quick work of his pants and her own, knowing their time is truly so limited. They are starting their lives in the midst of their ending, and when he finally opens his eyes, he looks at her longingly, “Suckle, boy,” and he does.

He presses her against the bed, pressed flush against her, the sun’s rays playing off of his back as the muscles move beneath the skin. They both have no need for vampire kiss dreams, and instead stay in the moment. As he gets weaker, she starts to feel stronger—not physically, but mentally, as if she is the only thing holding them both together from shattering. His hands clutch at her weakly, and he begins to tremble. She can feel it from his mouth, where they have become joined as one, that he is afraid—his own energy flowing freely into her. In taking her pain away, he had come face to face with every pain and fear he ever had.

“Don’t be afraid of death, Dracula. You aren’t alone anymore,” she whispers, rubbing her hands along his spine, “We are together now, you can let go.” Her eyelids flutter shut, and she feels everything around her start to slow down. He is getting heavier and heavier on top of her, clearly losing his own strength. She can hear him gasping, unable to drink anymore, and she shushes him quietly, comfortingly, when she hears him cry quietly, too tired to open her eyes and look at him. “This is how it was always meant to be, you and I. You did okay,” she offers, and she can feel every inch of him pressed against her, his breathing getting more and more labored against her. She feels no pain, just as he promised—instead, it had all channeled through her blood to him. She almost wished she had the strength to offer him more, Count Dracula who had faced his fears, and decided to sacrifice himself. Instead, as she feels herself slipping into the darkness, and his own breathing starting to slow, she turns both of their faces towards the sun, cheek to cheek, “Just let yourself feel Her warmth, Her light, let it wash over you.”

He does.


End file.
